With Help from Michael O'Leary Pt. 06

"Oh, my God. I think that I may need to consult a tax attorney."

"Many people do, Sir. Also, you have the option to take a one time payout instead of the 25 year payout."

"How much is the one time payout?"

"Approximately, Forty-five million before taxes but our accountants will give you an exact number when you claim your prize."

"Wow!"

"And, Sir."

"Yes, Bill."

"May I remind you that the ticket expires in a little more than three months?"

"Yes, I know, thank you."

"And, Sir?"

"Yes, Bill."

"If you have not already, you should sign the back of your ticket. Your ticket acts like a bearer bond with whomever presenting the ticket with their signature able to claim the prize."

"Thank you, Bill. I'm doing that right now."

Michael put the ticket in his sock drawer beneath a dozen neatly folded socks. There it stayed, consuming his thoughts like the dread that hung over someone waiting for their trial date at court. He had to get out. He needed to take a walk and to think. He leashed up Casey for a walk. Whenever he had something troubling his mind, walking made him feel better and he may as well take Casey along with him. Casey always enjoyed the exercise.

Two millions, three hundred fifty thousand dollars ran threw his mind like a runaway freight train. Now, he could go anywhere, do anything, and buy everything. More than anything else, that money from the lottery bought him his freedom. He no longer had to work at a job he hated. He could ask Gabriella to marry him. He could buy a house. He could live anywhere. Exotic places flashed through his mine, a cottage in the French countryside, a villa in Italy, a country house in Ireland or a mansion that overlooked the ocean somewhere. Then, he thought of the McDonough's house for sale, the one with the glassed in balcony, bay windows, beamed ceilings, and finished cellar. It overlooked the Atlantic Ocean by Castle Island and they were only asking $799,900. An impossible amount before suddenly became a reasonably priced bargain, now.

The more he thought of what he would do with his winnings, the more excited he became and the more excited he became, the faster he walked. Poor Casey could hardly keep up without running and until he felt a tug on the leash when his dog stopped at the fire hydrant to pee.

"Oh, sorry, Casey."

Michael headed home. He climbed the three flights of stairs, unlocked his door, and put Casey in before going out again to buy a newspaper.

Chapter 30 Little Ralphie.com

Ralphie now too big to call Little Ralphie heard about the bank robbery on the news. He drove to the bank and, having just missed Michael, drove to his house in time to see him walking to the corner store. He sat on the front steps and waited for him to return.

When Michael spotted Ralphie from the corner store two blocks away, anxiety hit him like a gush of cold wind. He quickened his pace to his door expecting something to be wrong and preparing himself for the worse. Ralphie never waited for him at his doorstep, they always made their plans over the telephone. Besides, Ralphie had his own key; he could have let himself into Michael's apartment. It just seemed so weird to see him sitting on the front steps like that.

What could it be? It has to be something terrible. He walked faster. Did he drop out of school? Was he in an accident? He took bigger steps. Was he in trouble with the police? Did he finally snap and murder his father? He broke out in a jog. Whatever it is, he will stand by him. He will help him, no matter what.

"What's the matter?" Michael asked from three doors away, expecting and ready to hear the bad news.

"Nothing." Ralphie looked hard at him. "Nothing. Really, nothing." He repeated his words and broke out into a smile. "You worry too much."

"I can't help that. That's how I am and I am too old to change that behavior now." He shifted the bag of bread and milk in his arm and Ralphie took it from him.

"That's the difference between you and the rest of the general population." He waved his hand. "You worry about everybody and everything, they worry about themselves and only what concerns them, and no one worries about you." He smiled, "But that's what makes you, Archangel Michael, St. Michael."

"Ha, ha. Not only is that not funny, it is not accurate." He returned Little Ralphie's smile. "I don't worry about the bank robbers and I do worry about myself, sometimes, occasionally." He laughed.

"Well, I worry about you, too," said Ralphie. "I heard about the bank robbery and wanted to see if you were okay and to see if you needed anything or if there was something that I could do for you." He threw an arm around his shoulders and looked at him. "You okay, Pop?"

Ralphie had the habit of calling him Pop. Michael felt special whenever Ralphie called him that, which was not very often. Still, the word Pop placed Michael on a much higher level than Ralphie's real Dad, Big Ralphie, and that made Michael feel that Ralphie loved him.

"I'm fine, a little shaken up, but—" He smiled with the revelation as to what Ralphie's visit was about. "Oh, you mean, you don't need any money, you just came by to see if I was okay."

"Well, I always need money."

"Come on up." He walked up in front of Ralphie. "Why didn't you let yourself in? You still have the key, don't you?"

"Yeah, I have the key but I saw you walking to the store and figured you'd be right back."

"Still, you could have waited upstairs. You scared the life out of me. I figured something terribly was wrong for you to be sitting there waiting for me to come home. I always imagine the worse things."

They both laughed.

"So, which did you think: that I murdered my father, dropped out of school, was wanted by the police or was in a car accident?"

"Well," he said laughing with Ralphie, "all of those crossed my mind."

"So, what's up with you and Gabriella?"

"What do you mean?"

"I heard through the neighborhood grapevine that you made a spectacle of yourselves, went at it like horny teenagers, and practically had sex on the sidewalk in front of the entire neighborhood." He looked at Michael and laughed. "Something that the peasants haven't stopped talking about since Crazy Tony beat up that black sailor for talking to his girlfriend, Maria."

"Who cares what they saw, what they are imagining, and what they have exaggerated." Michael shrugged. "It is my personal business."

"You know, Michael, you may think that the people in the neighborhood don't like you because you are Irish but they do. You are wrong about that. And they love Gabriella. She is one of their own." Ralphie smiled, "Mama mia." Michael looked over his shoulder as Ralphie moved his hands in the shape of an hourglass. "She's too hot for you, but they like the idea of you and her getting it on and being together as a couple."

"Who are they? Moreover, why do they care about me and Gabriella getting it on and being together as a couple?" He stopped his ascent and turned to Ralphie. "They should mind their own business."

"They are the North Enders, you know, your customers. And as far as them minding their own business, it will never happen. This neighborhood is too small for that. They live for juicy gossip like this. They'll be talking about this, about you and Gabriella making out on the sidewalk for years."

"Now, they like me after working all of these years at the bank, after not acknowledging my presence when I walk their sidewalks and after they give me nothing but their indifference when I shop their businesses."

"Ehh," Ralphie said with a shrug and threw up an arm just like Mrs. Enunzio, "it's a neighborhood thing. Get over it. They don't mean nothin' by it. You are one of them, now. You are accepted. They love their little Irish Leprechaun."

"Don't call me that. It's a sore point with me. The kids used to tease me with that name when I was a kid."

"Sorry, Michael. But, you live in South Boston; you know how it is. The same thing happens in the North End. Chalk it up to closed neighborhoods and being a product of your environment, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know what you mean."

"Besides, it takes time for we meatball and spaghetti Italians to warm up to and accept a corn beef and cabbage guy with orange hair."

"Yeah, unfortunately, I do know how it is." Michael remembered the reason why he wanted to become a priest, to help people treat one another with respect and with love.

"But, it's a good thing that you and Gabriella are getting it on and are together as a couple."

"Let's just say that our friendship has reached a higher level of mutual respect and adoration."

"Yeah, with no help from you."

"What do you mean?"

"If Gabriella waited for you to make a move on her, she'd be an old woman."

"Well, I'm glad that she's not as socially backward as I am. Moreover, I hope she feels the same about me as I feel about her." The darkened hallway concealed Michael's blush.

"Moreover? You hope?" Ralphie laughed. "Moreover, you're nuts not to know that she's crazy about you and has been crazy about you since the first day she laid eyes on you. Moreover, you're nuts if you do not realize, as it was with you, it was love at first sight with her, too. Moreover, you're nuts if you do not know that she divorced her husband to free herself up for you. These are things that everyone in the neighborhood knows but you." He laughed, again. "Moreover, you're just nuts."

"Well, that makes you nuts too because you are always hanging around me."

"It doesn't make a psychiatrist a nut to be around crazy people. Just call me Dr. Ralphie."

"Some psychiatrists are just as crazy as their patients."

Michael reached the third floor landing, inserted his key, and opened the door. Casey greeted him with a tail wag, a jump, and a lick. Then, he gave Ralphie the same greeting.

"How ya doin', Casey?" Ralphie rubbed Casey behind his ear. "Good dog. Good boy."

Michael prepared Casey's dinner in the kitchen and Casey ran from Ralphie to his bowl of dog food.

"So tell me," he said loud enough for Ralphie to hear him in the next room, "What is it that you need money for, books, tuition, or a girl?" Two million, three hundred fifty thousand dollars sidetracked his concentration. "It must be important enough for you to come all the way here." He gave Casey his supper as Ralphie entered the kitchen, pulled out a chair, and sat at the kitchen table.

"Yeah, it is."

"What?" He turned his full attention to Little Ralphie. "What is it?"

"The reason why I came all this way," Little Ralphie feigned a pained expression, "I was starving and I knew you'd have something to eat."

"Don't you ever get serious? Is everything a joke to you?" He threw a dishtowel at him. "There's a muffin in the breadbox and a leftover donut from this morning in there, too." He walked to the sink. "Want some coffee?"

"Coffee's good, so long as you are making it." Ralphie ate the donut before devouring the muffin, talking as he chewed. "I tried catching you at the bank, but they said you left already."

"Yeah, I walked to Charlestown for a late lunch, early supper. I had to think and it helps me to think when I walk."

Two million, three hundred fifty thousand dollars ran through his mind, again. "The walk did me good. It always does." He lied, remembering the panic that set him to running home when he imagined that the police were following him. He wondered if he should tell Ralphie about the lottery ticket and about the two million, three hundred fifty thousand dollars. He had to tell somebody, his mother, his father, his brothers, his sister, Gabriella, someone, but he decided not to say anything to anyone.

"So, what's up?" He watched Ralphie gobble down the muffin. "I can tell something is on your mind whenever you eat like an animal."

"You know how I've been" Ralphie talked as he chewed, "taking computer courses."

"Yeah."

"My school has this program called Entrepreneurship for Internet Startup Companies. I completed the course and finished top of my class."

"Wow, top of your class. That is quite the accomplishment. Good for you. I'm proud of you, Ralphie."

"As the final exam, we had to write a business plan for a company that we could establish as an Internet Startup business." He looked at Michael. "The teacher thought that my plan had so much merit that he persuaded me to enter it in the yearly contest that the school has to encourage newly emerging entrepreneurs." He swallowed the last bit of muffin. "Funny, but I never thought of myself as an entrepreneur but something clicked as I was going through the mechanics of writing the business plan. It was as if I was meant to do this."

"Do what?" said Michael counting out coffee scoops. "Become another Bill Gates?"

"Yeah, right." Ralphie laughed.

"Well, I certainly hope you win the contest Ralphie, that would be wonder—"

"I won the contest, first prize, actually, and it pays $100,000 in grants towards my Internet business startup."

"You won $100,000?" Michael stopped what he was doing to stare at Ralphie. "Are you kidding or are you serious?"

"I'm serious, but I only get the money if I actually start the company based on the business plan that I proposed and presented in the competition."

"So, what's the company?" Michael pushed the button that started the coffee brewing, walked over to the kitchen table, and pull out a chair to sit. Again, two million, three hundred fifty thousand dollars to control of his thoughts, he could hardly contain himself.

"I have an idea for a company that helps other companies navigate the web. A way for them to find what it is that they are looking for within nanoseconds instead of hours, days even and without getting all of the bullshit pop ups."

"Don't they have that already, search engines, they're called, right?"

"Yeah, but this is different. This takes it to a much higher level than what a mere search engine does. With my company," he laughed. "I'm talking like I already have a company. Anyway, with my company, I link the information that they need in a comprehensive package, call it a super search engine with an emphasis on marketing, advertising, promotion, and customer service."

"Still, don't they have that already?" Michael thought, "Amazon.com comes to mind, Google, and Yahoo, too. Every time I type in a search, I used one of those."

"Yes, but my idea is more sophisticated than that and," Ralphie smiled his smug smile whenever he was about to say something that he thought was smart; "the software to my site has a catch."

"Catch, what do you mean, catch?"

"The customer completes an extensive questionnaire that includes their last three years of financial information. From it, we analyze similar businesses. My version uses artificial intelligence to learn their business and strategize their needs based on economic forecasts. It is their personal think tank.

"That's scary."

"Not really. It just thinks for the customer, as would another employee, albeit well paid employee with advanced degrees, only faster and more thoroughly than any human can.

"I cannot keep up with the technology of computers."

"It is an easy concept to grasp, Michael. Once you setup the database, the software, my invention, extrapolates the information that the company has inputted and spits out multiple reports, custom reports, even, within nanoseconds of the customer punching in his or her request. The software does their market research and defines their web site advertising, making their company more competitive and profitable. The software is perfect for not only a large scale company but also a smaller company."

"So, this technology is here, now?"

"No, the technology does not exist, yet, but it will. I have only conceptualized it and have done that before anyone else. Now, I have to develop the software to put it in place. That is where the prize money from the grant will help bring this all to fruition."

"It all sounds great; Ralphie, but you're not a programmer. Pardon my disrespect, but you're not even an egghead."

"That's okay, no disrespect taken. You are right. I know little about computers and computer software. I'm just the idea man who now has to deliver my concept to the people who have the technological expertise to program my ideas to reality."

"And where do you find someone, anyone, with that kind of technical expertise?"

"Harvard University and The Massachusetts Institute of Technology are directly responsible for more startup businesses than any other schools in the world." He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "I've been spending my weekends in their computer labs looking for potential egghead programmers."

"And how do you do that? Do you walk around their school campus holding up a sign, Wanted Egghead Programmers?"

"It is easy to identify the ones that have serious brainpower. They are the ones, the only ones, who aren't partying on a Saturday night."

"So, where do I come in with your master plan?"

"I want to go public to get the money that I'll need, but I need seed money first, to do that."

"So, use the $100,000."

"I don't receive a penny of the $100,000 until the business is operational. I need money now to pay lawyers, to file patents, to set up the corporation, to rent office space, and to buy computers."

"That sounds expensive."

Ralphie pushed his hair back with his palm and Michael knew that whenever he did that telling idiosyncrasy that he was burning out of his skin with enthusiasm. He wished he had a fraction of the fire that burned deep inside Ralphie.

"It would not be a loan, Michael. I'd give you stock in exchange for your investment."

"I do not mean to be negative, but someone has to be realistic here. Stock in exchange for cash is risky when your company is only a paper dream. I could lose my investment."

"I know but," he looked at Michael. "I'm so sure about this that it is worth the risk and what you may earn in exchanged is huge." He flattened his hair again with his palm. "Imagine Steve Gates when he told the people around him that he was starting Microsoft, a software company when very few people had computers and when IBM had already given up on the idea of a computer in every home, concentrating more on business computers." He paused looking at Michael, again. "Those who believed in him and his idea are set for the rest of their lives. This could be as big."

"How much is my investment?" Michael thought about his two million, three hundred fifty thousand dollars.

"Well," Ralphie looked up as if adding numbers on a sky calculator, "In addition to the small savings that I have and the $100,000 that they'll give me to proceed with my company and, hopefully, with much more from investors, I need $35,000."

"Thirty-five thousand!"

"I know you don't have that kind of money, but whatever you can give me, now, would go a long way to help."

"Thirty-five thousand and that's just for expenses?" Michael looked hard at Ralphie.

"Michael, I know this will balloon into something big, very big, and very quickly, within a year or two. Oh, and guess what?'

"What?"

"The school invited a Vice-President of Small Business loans from Earth Bank."

"What's his name?"

"Her name is Ms. Marilyn Davis. She's flying in from Seattle."

"I don't know her." He looked at Ralphie. "It seems odd that they would fly a banker in from Seattle when they have local people here. You can throw a stick in the Boston branch of Earth Bank and hit a vice-president of something or other." He laughed.

"Maybe, she is has special expertise in computer software and Internet startups."

"Yeah, maybe."

"Anyway, Earth Bank is very interested. I have an interview with them on Monday. They want me to present my plan to the loan committee."