Found Money

I left the old red backpack under the house where I had originally found it. I even left a handful of hundred dollar bills in the pack.

My strategy was to make sure Abernathy knows he has the right house. He'll see the backpack and know he's in the right place. Then he'll see most of the money gone. Then I'm hoping he will immediately suspect the occupants of the house where the money had been stashed.

I leave the vent cover slightly open.

I hope I've thought this through correctly. I head for home.

One more thing to do tomorrow. On Memorial Day.

This chore will be a lot less frantic than the bank chore and far less stressful than removing and then returning money to my now estranged home.

I Uber to a spot near the Audi dealership in Bellevue, Memorial Day morning, and after a little negotiating, bought a bright red A6. Forty nine thousand dollars. I bought it through my still existing business account. If all worked out, I'd shuffle some of this drug cash around to pay for the Audi.

It still took a few hours to get out of there, denying extended warranties, and escaping the vampires within the dealership.

I was getting worried about time. I wasn't sure when Locke and Melanie would return. When I turned the corner in the Audi, no SUV at the curb. I parked the shiny new Audi right in front of my house. Temporary license prominent in the window, telling all who notice, this is a newly purchased car.

Good.

At this point, I think I'm done. Now all I have to do is wait. Wait and see what happens. I believe I had set everything in motion. I had moments when I questioned what I may have done. Then I think of Melanie, my wife, and the screamed insults. Those thoughts reaffirmed my actions.

Tuesday and Wednesday I'm back at work for Microtec. For some reason I'm able to focus on my job completely and I spend two very productive days working for Isaac.

If my calculations are correct the action, if it happens, should happen Wednesday night, Thursday, or at latest Friday.

I keep my head down, working away. I make sure I'm around the condo. When Mike comes home, I'm there. It's really not quite an alibi, but I'm hoping it will tilt any suspicion that may point my way into a different direction.

Now, I just wait.

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

Damon cannot believe it. Finally he's out. He's free to take a shower, free to buy a meal, free to find a woman. But that can all wait. Damon knows he's got to work his plan. Step one, he thinks, I got to get me my money.

He takes off at one AM. Dressed darkly with a sack full of the things he'll need. By ten o'clock tomorrow he'll be heading back home to Mississippi.

Damon has no problem finding the house. For all those months in the joint this is all he thought about. Gotta get my money and get back home. He notices a shiny new car sitting right in front of the house.

Dressed darkly he is a mere shadow sliding into the back yard of the house at 5718. It looks familiar. Damon sees the opening under the house. It looks partway opened. For some reason that bothers him.

Flashlight in hand he crawls through the opening and turns on the light. He sees something and goes right for the spot where he left the money. He sees the backpack. Yes, Damon thinks.

But something's wrong. It's too light. Under the house he unzips it, there are a few bills in there, but all his banded stacks are gone!

Where the fuck is my money? He thinks for a moment. Damon's getting angry, but he stops to consider his next move. Where is the money. He then thinks about the brand new car out front.

He has a pretty good idea where it might be.

Damon grabs a few things out of his bag. He approaches the double doors by the deck, quick inspection, not this door he thinks, too complicated. He goes to the side door and sees a much simpler lock. He's soon in the house. No alarm.

Now I've got to find the people.

Damon creeps the house. The staircase starts to squeak as he heads up. He steps on the outer edge of the stair quieting his ascent.

Someone's in the room at the top. Damon slides in the room, the sound of someone, no, two people sleeping. He flips the light on. It takes a minute but a woman wakes up, sees him dressed in black and screams.

Now a big guy is up, out of bed, charging at him. Damon reflexively pulls the Ruger pocket pistol out and gut shoots the big guy, he crumples. The woman is screaming.

The woman barely dressed looks good Damon thinks. It's been a long time. He considers her for a brief second.

"Bitch, shut up," Damon hisses at her, "or the next fucking bullet is for you. Now, where's my money?" Damon says.

She's crying and saying she doesn't know anything about any money. The big dude who charged him is rolling around on the floor in pain.

Damon points the Ruger at the big guys temple.

"Now, where the fuck is the money?" He asks.

She's now nodding her head and telling him the money's downstairs.

"Get your ass up and show me quick." Damon waves the Ruger at her.

She is one fine looking woman he notices as she gets up. What he doesn't notice is the big guy dialing 911 on his cell phone.

Downstairs he follows the woman in to a room with an old gray cabinet. She opens the top drawer. There is the cash. Rubber bands around the stacks just like he remembered.

She's crying and asking him to leave. He starts putting the stacks back in the red backpack. In just a minute he tells her.

Damon rifles one of the stacks and... wait a minute. He looks at a couple more. These aren't hundreds in hear they are fucking one dollar bills!

"Where is my money!?" He is now yelling at her.

She's crying and saying she doesn't know. I gotta get out of here he thinks. He holds the gun to her head.

"One last chance bitch," he snarls, "where is the money?"

She's crying and telling him she doesn't know. Damon knows he's got to leave quickly. He's just about decided to just tie her up and gag her. Then he thinks about that fancy brand new car outside. This bitch bought it with his money!

He pulls the trigger, a red hole appears at her temple. She's dead immediately.

That's when he hears the sirens. He heads back out the side door out to the street heading that same direction he did all those months ago. Need to get to that park, Damon thinks.

This time he gets across the street halfway through the church parking lot when the cops see him.

'I ain't never going back in the joint' Damon tells himself. He's running and they are on a loudspeaker commanding him to stop. He turns and fires once as he runs toward the park.

The barrage of bullets kills him instantly the red backpack flung to the ground. No, Damon's definitely not going back to any jail.

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

Thursday is an odd day for me. I need to know if anything happened with the money, the drug dealer and Melanie. But I can't ask or do anything that would seem curious about any of that.

I just kept working, making a few calls to Isaac, some necessary and others going through the motions. If any hint of suspicion was ever aimed my way I want to make sure I appeared normal.

Mid afternoon Thursday I have a new thought. What if all my planning, my calculations to set up Melanie didn't work. What if Damon Abernathy found the empty backpack and just left.

I guess time will tell, but I know I can't ask, cruise her street, or try to talk to her at all. I've just got to sit tight.

I didn't have to wait too long.

Shortly before five PM I get a call from Mike. He's quite serious.

"JD, I need to talk to you about something," he tells me.

Uh, oh, here we go I think.

"Melanie has been murdered," he tells me. "You've been home all day correct?" He's in district attorney mode.

Now I've got to put on the performance of my life.

"Wait, what, Melanie's dead!?" I nearly shout into the phone. "What, how did this happen!?"

I sound frantic, and I actually am kind of frantic, just not the type of frantic anyone would expect. I'm dying to hear what happened.

I muster up a sob.

"Listen JD," Mike says. " I don't have all the details, but it looks like some type of home invasion."

I sit quiet for a minutes trying to absorb all he's said. I whimper a bit to sound the part, but then I stop.

"Wait a minute," I ask, real emotion now, "why did you ask me where I had been?"

"It's really just a formality," he says. "Whenever there is any type of domestic problem the surviving spouse is examined closely."

"But..." I begin.

"Hang on," he interrupts, "in this case they are pretty sure they know who the perp is, or was. He was killed by the police in a confrontation. And you won't believe it, it was our boy Damon Abernathy." He tells me.

I'm silent digesting all this information. A swirl of emotions, guilt, sadness, anxiety and part of me is happy.

Mike mistakes my silence as sadness over the death of my wife.

"Look JD, I'm really sorry about all this." He says. "I'll be home later, you shouldn't be alone. I'll be there as soon as I can." He adds.

"Thanks," I half sob to Mike.

Somehow I summoned up enough emotion to act far sadder than I actually was.

Over the next several days the details came out. Mike gave me more information too. The police, obligatory, questioned me, but not too intently, I had my story down.

They had their man. The gun matched and there was a witness who helped identify him. Harrison Locke.

I found out Locke had been wounded in the struggle with Damon Abernathy. He was at Swedish Hospital.

I decided to pay good old Harrison a visit. I had a couple of reasons.

When I entered the room I acted somber and sympathetic.

He bought it.

I asked him how we was. I shed a few tears in his presence over Melanie and asked him what had happened.

This was one of the things I needed to know.

After I was satisfied that anything regarding the money was not linked back to me I was just about done with Locke.

"Harrison," I said, still with a sincere sound to my voice, "I hope you get better soon."

He nods, lips pursed, as if we share a joint concern over his health.

And then I add.

"So you can get your fucking shit out of my house!" I tell him, and then I leave.

My last impression of this egotistical asshole is a blank look on his face mouth half open.

About a week later and I've moved back into my house, Locke's shit is in black garbage bags in the garage. Things have settled down. Obviously the HRO is lifted, there's no one to harass. And of course there is no divorce.

Mike calls and we make plans to get a beer. The Norsemen again.

We discuss Melanie's death, the home invasion and Damon Abernathy. We drift on to the Mariners and if they will make the playoffs. We're now on safer subjects. I've relaxed.

"JD," he says, "quick question."

I nod, "what's up?" As I said I'm relaxed.

"Why would Abernathy break in to your house." He asks a little edge to his voice. "What was there that he wanted?"

I look at him speechless, and then I quickly look away.

Mike's giving me a hard stare as he gets up from the table.

"Gotta go, I think you're buying tonight." And then he's gone.

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

As I sat I felt the stress of my environment, a shadow crossed my face, darkening my surroundings. This new darkness seemed to create the right time to reflect on my current situation.

I thought about Melanie and our relationship. I thought about what she wanted from our marriage and I thought about what I had wanted too. And I thought this was the root of our problems. We each wanted things that the other couldn't quite give. In retrospect Melanie wanted status. I was acceptable to her pre facial surgery. She first knew me as a young, kind of hip, tech entrepreneur. Once she changed her appearance I was no longer acceptable as a companion for her. She wanted more. I guess someone like Harrison.

What did I want. I wanted the pretty, popular woman. All those home coming queens and cheerleaders from high school that I longed for but was far to nerdy to ever get. That's what I wanted. I was too blinded by that desire to realize how superficial Melanie was.

And if I'm being honest how superficial I was.

It was sad if you think about it. Two people wanting illusions of the perfect spouse and not ever getting what they thought they wanted.

The big difference was I got my house back. Any harassment charges were dropped. I also got a five hundred thousand dollar life insurance payment and a brand new Audi.

Unfortunately we know what Melanie got. Sometimes at a weak moment I actually feel a little guilty.

Oh, one other thing I got, one hundred and ninety two thousand dollars in untraceable cash.

Finally the tropical sun had slid past the palm tree. Now the shadow was gone and the bright Hawaiian sunshine was once again warming my face.

As that shadow receded a new dark image temporarily blocked the sun.

"Sir, would you care for another Mai Tai?" The waiter, who was now blocking my sun, asked.

I took a deep breath, glanced up to the palm trees, and then out to the blue of the Pacific.

"Yes," I said, "as a matter of fact we will have another round." I glanced toward Jayna as I confirmed our order. I offered and he accepted the worn hundred dollar bill to cover our bill as he left to retrieve our drinks.

"Just keep them coming," I tell the waiter.

"Yes, sir!" He says.

He knows I tip well and always in cash.

My gaze shifted from the blue of the ocean to the light brown of Jayna's tan back. The side of her lighter colored breasts was visible. Wow, I thought, great tits!

"Honey, can you put some sun screen on my back?" She asked.

THE END

I just spent some time in Kona on a condo on Ali'i Drive, which is also the name of a story I wrote last year.

I watched the waves and saw how the swells first appeared way out at sea and eventually grew and then when it met the shallow seabed the wave would break.

I have been told that sometimes my stories end too quickly.

For me the story is sort of like the wave. It starts out, builds (I hope) and then can end quickly when all the parts come together. Sort of like the breaking of a wave.

Anyway forgive my analogy. I hope you enjoyed the story.