WORK FOR Comm. PEACE

WORK FOR Comm. PEACE

         “Hey, Rich. How’s it hangin’?”

         “Not good, Johnny, not good. That bitch Jessica is still—“

         “That’s a little harsh, no? Bitch?” Johnny interrupted.

         “No, it’s not harsh. She’s still trying to suck more money out of me from the divorce. That combined with the lawsuit that fatass Jerry won against me has made this a horrible year. I have had no luck. None. Zero,” Richard said, beginning to get more worked up the more he thought about his troubles, “That son of a bitch ruined my life because he just had to run across my property – my hard-earned property – and break his fucking knee on my backhoe. I would LOVE to get a chance to –“

         “Whoa. Whoa,” Johnny said, “Whoa. Take a breath. That’s a lot of animosity that you’re spewing. I know it’s been a rough year but I’ve got some excellent news.”

         “Johnny, this better be good...I’m...raking my leaves.”

         “Well, you don’t sound very excited, but check this out. I was dreaming about this smokin’ hot girl I saw at the bus stop—“

         “Girl?”

         “Well, she was probably about seventeen or so, so technically I guess...” Johnny faded off.

         “Johnny,” Richard interrupted, “You’re only three seconds into this story and I already don’t want to hear about where this is going. I think we could both get into a lot of trouble just discussing this.”

         “No, no, Rich, she has nothing to do with it. But God was she hot... That’s just how all my dreams usually begin.”

         “You’re a creep, you know?”

         “Anyway, you know how I occasionally participate in those government-sanctioned games of chance?”

         “You mean the Pick 3, Pick 4 and Cash 5 every Monday through Saturday, twice a day, as well as the Mega Millions every Tuesday and Friday and the Powerball every Wednesday and Saturday which, by the way, you have to drive to a neighboring state to get?” Richard sarcastically answered, “Yeah, you’re right, that is the exact definition of ‘occasionally.’”

         “So I was dreaming about walking up to that girl at the bus stop,” Johnny continued, indifferent to veiled criticism as he usually is, “and as I walk up to her she only says four numbers: 1 – 1 – 3 – 2. Over and over again, 1 – 1 – 3 – 2 – 1 – 1 – 3 – 2 – 1 – 1 – 3 – 2, without a pause between beginning and end. I thought maybe I had somehow dreamt her phone number, like this was a sign from the universe that I had to find her because she just kept repeating the numbers without stopping and it in no way seemed like the same four numbers at first. Then I picked up on the pattern and realized that it was the same numbers repeated, so maybe it wasn’t her number, but I didn’t know what it could mean. So in my dream I tried to talk to her, you know, to seduce her –“

         “Wait,” Richard interrupted, “Was this at a school bus stop or a city bus stop?”

         “Not important – stop butting in... You’re making it difficult to concentrate.”

         “You know, you’re sick,” Richard shot back, insulting his friend again.

         “I told you, she really has nothing to do with it. So I try to start a conversation and just when I think she’s about to start saying something other than numbers, she falls to her knees, right in front of me, you know, and pulls –“

         “OK, I’m going to have to stop you there. I really don’t want to envision this...” Richard again interrupted.

         “Will you let me finish? She got on her hands and knees and starting coughing – really deep coughs. Then she stopped and stuck her entire hand in her mouth – kind of like a clown, you know, at the circus, and pulled out a Pick 4 ticket and just handed it to me. It was in perfect condition and had the same numbers that she was saying and today’s date. Now tell me – is that not a sign?”

         “Maybe,” Richard replied, “or maybe it’s the kind of dream a perverted-lunatic-creep potential serial killer would have. Or like you said, the kind of dream you always have. So, what’re you going to do?”

         “Well, I’ve got $197 in cash, so I’m going to buy 197 tickets for the next drawing. You want in?”

         Richard pondered the offer for a second, then made his decision, “I’m going to let you enjoy this on your own, Johnny. But since you’re trying your luck off of dream numbers, why don’t I do something just as...ridiculous? Pick me up a Mega Millions for tonight using these numbers from this fortune cookie fortune that I’ve had in my wallet. I held onto it because it tells how to say boss in Chinese: Lao-ban. Heh..., I guess I kept it since I was once a boss because the fortune’s not really any good: “Wisdom comes from experience” – more of a factual statement than my fortune, but whatever, maybe the numbers will have some meaning and we’ll both get lucky.”

         “Suit yourself,” Johnny replied, “maybe this will be a lucky day for both of us.”

         “That’s pretty much what I just said.”

         Richard gave Johnny the numbers and a dollar, then went back to his work. He had no confidence in either one of them actually hitting their numbers; in fact, he had little confidence that anything would ever go his way again. Not since he was sued for all that he had by a lonely, suicidal former employee who just happened to get injured on his property. The injury alone probably wouldn’t have resulted in Richard losing everything, but the fact that the former employee, Jerry MacDougallopoulos, got injured on unlicensed, unpermitted equipment and construction on his property did Richard in.

         A very public trial followed that exposed Richard’s demeaning relationship with Jerry that went back as far as the two men’s high school years. Richard had been made out as a villain, a cocky one at that, which was only reinforced by his mind-numbingly idiotic reply as to why he didn’t just obtain permits and licenses for his work:

         “I felt if people saw a bunch of construction and machines they would just assume that I had a permit. If I was ever caught, I would pay the fine. What would I care? I was negligent because I assumed that all my neighbors would be too lazy and apathetic to try to find out if I was allowed to be doing what I was doing. They should take some of the blame for what fat Jerry did as well – it’s kind of their fault, too.”

         This attitude didn’t win over the jurors, who quickly decided that Richard Eric needed to be taken down a notch. He soon lost his home, his former livelihood, and his wife, Jessica Eric-van Damm, who claimed that she couldn’t be with someone that was going through a stretch of such bad “karma”.

         His life crumbling, Richard had to move to a more affordable, lower income section of town where he became neighbors with Johnny Steavey, an unmotivated, low-salaried drain on society that spent much of what was left of his inheritance and part-time salary on lottery tickets. Johnny dropped loads of money on scratchers but also tried his luck at every drawing game that he could get his hands on. He would often try to encourage Richard to play the lottery but Richard refused, stating that he’s “hemorrhaging money through lawsuits and divorces and can’t afford to contribute to the state idiot tax.”

         Johnny, exceedingly satisfied by having finally dragged Richard a little deeper into his world, made his big lottery purchase at the same 7-11 that he visited every day.

         “Son of a bitch, Johnny, $197 in Pick 4. Are you high?” the clerk, a Pakistani man named Aasir Gabol, commented.

         “I’m feeling lucky, Aasir, I dreamed up some numbers. Oh, and one Mega Millions with these numbers. Richard’s feeling lucky, too.”

         “I hope that cocksucker rots in hell. He deserves all that comes to him,” Aasir vented, “He deserves to be smote.”

         “OK, great. Thanks, Aasir. I’ll see you later.”

         And so Johnny bought 197 Pick 4 tickets for the afternoon drawing and one Mega Millions for Richard that night. He left the store confident that luck would shine upon him on this glorious weekday afternoon.

* * *

         “Hey, Rich, I’ve got your Mega Millions. You want to come over and watch the afternoon drawings? They’re on in a few minutes.”

         “Johnny, I’m really busy—,” Richard started.

         “Come on, Rich, it’ll only take a minute. You need a break,” Johnny prodded, “I’ll be sure to take care of you after I win.”

         “Oh, alright,” Richard replied, “Just for a minute. I need to finish this yard work before it starts to rain.”

         The two men headed indoors, one seeking a temporary break and the other, having done very little real work in his life, looking for a way out of ever having to work any type of job ever again. They both plopped down on Johnny’s couch, Richard exhausted and satisfied with an opportunity to get off his feet.

         “You want a beer?” Johnny asked.

         “Sure, bring me one. I’ll drink it with you if you win. You know, to celebrate.”

         “WHEN I win,” Johnny shot back, “If your lack of confidence keeps up, I’m gonna dock some of my gift money to you.”

         As Johnny left to go grab a couple of drinks, the drawing began.

         “Johnny, it’s on!” Richard bellowed.

         “Welcome to your mid-day drawings,” the announcer said, “just match your Pick 3 or Pick 4 in the exact order to win. And for the Pick 3, your numbers are: 3 – 4 – 0 and for your Pick 4, your numbers are:”

         “This is it,” Johnny said, rising from his seat and creeping toward the television in anticipation of hearing his numbers.

         “6 – 4 – 0 – and 1. 3 – 4 – 0 for your Pick 3 and 6 – 4 – 0 – 1 for your Pick 4. Cash 5 numbers are on the side of the screen and everybody have a nice day.”

         Johnny backed up to his couch and sat down, then put his head into his hands in disbelief.

         “Johnny, I’m sorry man. These things are a crapshoot. You were probably just a little high when you thought of those numbers. I’ve got to get back outside. You take it easy.”

         Richard let himself out as Johnny sat on his couch in silence. Richard never believed that Johnny had a chance; he never really believed there was any chance to win those things. He did a little yard work for the rest of the day while Johnny briefly contemplated suicide, later thinking better of it. Both men retired early in the evening, each suffering through self-inflicted hardships. Neither man thought anything of the late lotto drawings at 11 o’clock and slept peacefully through the night.

* * *

         “Oh, shit!” Richard shouted after glancing at the morning paper.

         He sprinted out of the house and raced over to Johnny’s wearing nothing more than boxer shorts, seemingly unfazed by the indecency laws he occasionally violated each time his stride became too long. It was disgusting.

         “Johnny! Johnny! Wake up! Did you see last night’s numbers? Johnny!”

         “Yeah, I saw them,” Johnny groaned, not sharing Richard’s enthusiasm, “the numbers I dreamed were drawn last night. I picked the wrong drawing time. Can you believe that? I picked the right numbers but the wrong time. What are the fucking odds of that? Nothing to get excited about, though, Rich. I picked the right numbers but at the wrong time. They don’t have any consolation prizes for doing that, but they should. Or at least some kind of ironic case of bad luck prize or something. The wrong time, I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it...”

         “Johnny, I’ve got great news! I won! I won a $115 million jackpot with some numbers off of a stupid cookie! Can you believe that? I’ve never even played the lottery before! Hell, you play all the time and have never won anything! What are the odds of that?!”

         “Wha-? Are you shitting me? That’s awesome, Rich! Are you serious? Are you going to share any of it? What are you going to do with it? That’s insane!”

         “Oh, I am going to share it, Johnny. I’m going to share a lot of it – with the community. I’ve got to rebuild my reputation. The whole town still thinks I’m a complete dick and I’m going to do something about it.”

         “Really? Oh, man...that’s great—that’s a great thing to do. Like charities and stuff? That’s so good of you, man...” Johnny eeked out, a little less enthusiastic after hearing Richard’s plans, “You came to that decision really fast. Wow.”

         “I can’t go through the rest of my life being hated by everyone. This is my chance to turn things around.”

         “Great...” Johnny sputtered, “Tell me how that works out for you.”

         With that, Johnny slowly closed his door and Richard went on his way to begin the process of claiming his prize. He had been given a chance to reclaim his life and was bent on repairing his image.

* * *

         With his identity verified and the paperwork signed, Richard Eric received a lump sum of $54 million, after taxes. For the second time in the past year, he was featured on local and even national news. This time he wasn’t losing his fortune but instead reaping one, much to the dismay of all who watched, remembering – and being reminded by newscasters – how Richard had been portrayed as a villain in his trial with Jerry MacDougallopoulos.

         The nation had cheered when Jerry was awarded much of Richard’s wealth and vowed to never forgive him for his unkind treatment of a fellow human being, but he set out to try to change their hearts. Richard also promised his only true friend, Johnny, a peaceful and secure life after he had finished sharing a great deal of his winnings with charities.

         “Rich, I did it. I quit my job!” Johnny giddily told Richard, “Now you’re not going to screw me over or anything, right? I gave up a decent retirement package and there’s no going back.”

         “First of all, I wouldn’t call free oil changes and tire rotations for life a decent retirement package. But anyway, you’re going to be fine, Johnny. We’re going to be fine. No more work for us. I told you, I plan on keeping a few mill in savings to accumulate interest that we can live off of. It’s conservative and we’re not going to have a huge mansion or ridiculous cars, but we will be able to relax and enjoy our lives. This money is going to bring an end to all of our problems. No more dog food dinners for you or stew for me. No more lawsuits or divorce horseshit to worry about ruining my life. With all this free time maybe we’ll be able to find you a lady that’s over eighteen to dream about! We’re going to be comfortable.”

         “This is so great, Rich. I don’t know how I could ever repay you.”

         “Johnny,” Richard said, “you gave me something priceless. You gave me your friendship and I don’t know how I could ever repay YOU for that. You owe me nothing as you’ve already made me a rich man by being my friend.”

         The two men briefly stood in silence, staring at each other, before Richard continued, “Now I have to go before this gets kind of, you know—YOU KNOW..., and we kiss or something.”

         Johnny nervously chuckled and replied, “Yeah – no. I know what you mean. I would never kiss you – or ANY man! I’m a man!”

         “Calm down. I was just pulling your chain –“

         “What a poor choice of words,” Johnny shot back.

         “Right. I’m going to try to give some of this money away. Wish me luck.”

         And with that, Richard set out to the recently renamed FREE Food and Clothing for Kids charity, an organization that he had once seen featured on the news while flipping channels, in an effort to begin buying back his credibility in the community.

* * *

         “Hi, I called earlier. I’m the person who would like to contribute to your fine organization,” Richard said to the young female receptionist.

         “Oh, so it really was you,” the receptionist groaned in an unenthusiastic manner, “let me call the director down.”

         “Okay...” Richard was a little befuddled by the receptionist’s response but felt that maybe it had been a bad day. Or she was just jealous. He waited a moment, then the organization’s director appeared in the lobby.

         “Ah, good afternoon Mr. Eric. So, it really is you,” the director, Penelope McClain, said with a British accent that had lost only a little of its bite after years away from the home country.

         “Hi, how are you, ma’am?” Richard replied.

         “I’m going to get straight to the point, Mr. Eric. We can’t accept a contribution with your name on it. We simply don’t want to be associated with your troubled past. It would be like accepting money from a terrorist for you had terrorized one soul for so long. However, if you wish, we would gladly accept an anonymous gift.”

         “Are—are you serious?” Richard sputtered, “I’m not totally up on my current events but didn’t a branch of this charity once get caught for making kids do hard labor for the food and clothing that was bought with donated money? I know it was an isolated incident but you have no right to judge anybody like that. I’m sorry; I’m trying to show the community that I’m a changed, decent person. I want no part of an organization that equates me with a terrorist. I’ll have to take my money elsewhere.”

         “I’m sorry you feel that way,” Penelope said.

         “I feel that way because of what you said,” Richard shot back, “how did you expect me to feel? No. You know what? I don’t care. I’ll be leaving now. Good bye.”

         With that, Richard left; off to pursue other charities, most of which he had never researched in any way as to what kind of work they performed, such as KindHearts, the Benevolence International Foundation, and the Human Fund. At each organization he received similar reactions as at FREE Food and Clothing for Kids. Confused and disappointed, but not having given up on his poorly-planned charitable quest, Richard returned home to regroup.

         “I don’t know what it is, Johnny,” he said, “Nobody wants my money.”

         “I’ll take it,” Johnny joked.

         “Don’t worry; you’ll get your share. We’re going to be all right, but I feel like I still have to give something back to the community.”

         “You know,” Johnny replied, “I’ve heard of this place called WORK FOR Comm. PEACE. I used to know a guy that worked there. He was really dedicated to the cause but they had a hard time recruiting a lot of support. Maybe you should try them out; they could probably use some money.”

         “WORK FOR Comm. PEACE? What do they do?” Richard asked.

         “I don’t know their official stance on things right now,” Johnny answered, “but it couldn’t hurt to try them out. Obviously they work for the community and people or something, with a name like that.”

         “You’re right. I’m going to find out where they are and I’ll go there tomorrow. I’m not giving up just yet.”

         “Good man,” Johnny replied, “now let’s get some grub. I didn’t have any breakfast.”

         “It’s 4:30. You didn’t have anything to eat at all today?”

         “I don’t have any money,” Johnny replied, “remember, you’re supporting me, no matter what!”

* * *

         As the next morning arrived, Richard was back in better spirits about buying his good reputation back. He was bubbling with confidence and set out for a meeting with WORK FOR Comm. PEACE at mid-morning. He had some difficulty finding their office, though, as it was in an older, poorly marked, somewhat discrete building.

         “Man, these guys really could use some money,” Richard thought after he finally found their building with the only indication of its tenants having been written in tiny red letters next to the door, “Maybe some bigger letters instead of blowing all your money on color, guys.”

         He knocked on a windowless door and waited for someone to answer. Nothing. Finally, after about 30 seconds of waiting, he again began to knock when he heard someone walking towards the door in what sounded like, from the echoing of the person’s footsteps, an empty room. An average-sized, regular-looking man opened the door to this unusual beginning to Richard’s fifth attempt at giving away his money.

         “What is your business?” the man scoffed, appearing to be inconvenienced by Richard’s intrusion, in a gravely voice supplemented by the presence of a mucous-related tinge from deep in his throat.

         “Well, I heard about your organization and I would like to see if you were willing to accept a donation.”

         “Really?” the man replied, surprised, “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. Please, come in.”

         “Thank you,” Richard replied as he stepped into what was, in fact, a barren room, “I’ve had a hard time contributing money so I was hoping you guys would accept my offer. Most groups have wanted nothing to do with me – I can’t believe how difficult this has been.”

         “Absolutely. We’d love to.”

         “Oh, that’s great! So, how do we go about doing this?”

         “You just leave it up to us,” the man said, “Just leave us a number so we can contact you and we’ll get in touch in a couple days. We’ll then initiate several electronic transfers. It’s more...efficient that way. How much would you like to donate, mister...”

         “Oh, I’m sorry. Eric. Richard Eric. We’ll, I’ve just come into a lot of money and I want to share with the community. I was honestly thinking something big, like $7 million or so. I’m making an effort to try to change the public’s perception of me after an unfortunately inept and misguided attempt at defending myself in a lawsuit. Will you spread the word that I donated to and helped your organization?”

         “Yes, very soon all the world will know how you helped our cause,” the man said.

         “Ok. Wow, that’s great. Better than I could have hoped for. Well, thanks, uh, I didn’t get your name...”

         “Alex,” the man replied.

         “Well, thank you, Alex. Here’s my number and I’ll be expecting a call in a few days.”

         “No, thank you, sir,” Alex said.

         Richard left the building filled with excitement. He had finally taken a positive step towards bettering his name. He made his way home to celebrate with Johnny and would only have to wait a few more days for his plan to officially take action.

* * *

         Three days had passed since Richard’s meeting with WORK FOR Comm. PEACE and he hadn’t yet heard from Alex. He was growing quite anxious and was considering taking action.

         “If that guy doesn’t call today, I think I’m going to go down there,” Richard lamented, “Maybe he lost my number or something.”

         “Or maybe they’re like the other charities and don’t want to be associated with a terrorist like you,” Johnny teased.

         “Yeah, right. Can you believe that lady called me a terrorist? The media really did a job on me in the trial. But I really think that guy wanted to do business with me. He seemed very eager to accept my charity.”

         “I’d be eager to take $7 million off of your hands, too,” Johnny remarked, “We could buy an island paradise with that. We could just be done with dealing with all the headcases in society.”

         “Yeah...but I really think I should give something back in my life –,” Richard started, before being cut off by a ringing phone, “Hello?”

         “Hello, Mr. Eric, this is Leo from the other day.”

         “Leo?”

         “From the organization? You still do wish to contribute, correct?”

         “Oh, hello..., Leo. Yes, absolutely I still want to help. I must have misunderstood you the other day, I thought your name was Alex.”

         “Oh, my mistake,” Leo replied with a chuckle, “My raspy voice can be difficult to understand at times. Let’s get down to business, shall we?”

         With only donating money to clear his name on his mind, Richard thought nothing of the name confusion. The two men initiated a series of transfers and verifications that left Richard confident that he had chosen the right organization to donate seven million of his dollars.

* * *

         It wasn’t until several months had passed that Richard would receive public acknowledgement for his donation, in a most unexpected way. He and Johnny were spending the afternoon lounging around in front of the TV, watching quality FOX programming, when suddenly breaking news flashed across the screen.

         “Ryan Seacrest is involved in a high-speed pursuit on Interstate 5 in southern California,” the anchorwoman said, “We’ll now take you live to the scene.”

         “Oh, shit! Did you see that?” Johnny exclaimed, “Seacrest is going to be out for a long time.”

         “What could he possibly be fleeing from?” Richard started, before a more significant, deserving breaking news story jumped on the screen.

         “We are terribly sorry to have to take you away from the scene in southern California, but we have some more breaking news. An apparent terrorist attack on a high rise apartment complex has been averted. No damage or injuries occurred as the threat was quickly identified. We haven’t received word on it’s location as all of our resources are tied up in the car chase... OK, here is some information. A group called WORK FOR Comm. PEACE, a grassroots militant communist organization, has immediately been linked to and, surprisingly, admitted to the failed attack. Fortunately the group had been wiretapped by the government, or else real damage could have been done. Chalk another one up to the Patriot Act!”

         “Oh...my...God...” Richard muttered, “I’ve got to get out of here!”

         “What did you do, Rich?” Johnny shouted, “Did you have this happen? What happened?”

         “I thought they were a charity – look at their name! They don’t seem like terrorists! I’ve got to go! Johnny, go on the internet and find some place that we can escape to. I’m going to get as much cash out of the bank as possible before they freeze my accounts. I’ll be right back! We’ve got to go!”

         Richard raced to the bank with a large duffle bag – he had no intention of setting foot in the United States ever again after he fled. He reached the bank just minutes after the news had broken and, fortunately for him, before he had been linked.

         “Hi, how much money do you have?”

         “Oh my God, is this a robbery?” the teller quivered, “I don’t believe this...”

         “No, no. I have a large account here,” Richard reassured, “I’m just going out on vacation and I need a lot of cash – as much as I can withdraw.”

         “Oh, thank God. I’ll go get the manager.”

         Richard waited for what seemed like an eternity but was really less than a minute for the manager to show up.

         “Nice to see you again, Mr. Eric. We have $1.2 million in cash to release to you,” the manager said.

         “Great, I’ll take it all.”

         “You’re sure you want to do that? It is very risky to have such a significant amount of money on your person.”

         “Yes, yes. I need it all.” Richard replied in a somewhat agitated, anxious manner before realizing that his behavior might seem suspicious, “I’m sorry. I’m just excited about a big trip!”

         “Oh, very well, just a moment, sir.”

         Richard received his cash, $1.2 million, after only a few minutes. He had completed his entire visit in less than ten minutes and as he was exiting the bank a television monitor caught his eye. The sound was muted but he caught a glimpse of the close captioning that scrolled across the screen:

         “...recent Mega Millions winner Richard...”

         With that, Richard continued on his way out of the building. He had to return to the house to get Johnny. They would have to plan their escape on the fly as there was no time to waste in the comfort of their home.

* * *

         “Johnny! Where are you? We have to go NOW!” Richard bellowed as he walked into the house, “Johnny!”

         “Yeah! Right in here! In the living room!” Johnny answered.

         “Johnny, we have to get out of here! We have very little time! They’ve linked me to WORK FOR Comm. PEACE on the news!”

         “Just give me one more minute...I think if we could get into Cuba we would be in good shape, Rich. I don’t think they’ll give us up!”

         “Are you crazy? WORK FOR Comm. PEACE is a militant communist group, Johnny! We can’t go to Cuba! How would that make us look?”

         “No, that’s great!” Johnny answered, “The Cuban government will probably offer us protection! I mean, you did associate with a communist organization in America. That should be worth a few brownie points with some reds.”

         “That’s ridiculous! We can’t go there! What are you thinking?! We’ll have to make a plan while we’re driving! We have to go!”

         “Just come check this out. It’ll only take a minute,” Johnny replied.

         Johnny was trying Richard’s patience. He walked over to the living room with the intention of grabbing his friend by the collar and dragging him to the car. As he reached the room, he noticed that Johnny was standing there, waiting for him.

         “Johnny, you’re killing me—“

         “I’m sorry, Richard, but you brought this upon yourself. We’re not doing this together.”

         While speaking, Johnny slowly raised his .42 caliber LeMat Revolver, an odd choice as the handgun had enjoyed its most widespread use during the American Civil War, and took aim at his friend.

         “Johnny,” Richard stammered, “What the hell are you doing? Are you really going to shoot me?”

         “Give me the cash, Rich. I’m fleeing, you’re not. It is unacceptable that you tried to kill your fellow man by aiding those terrorists. You’re going to face the music. Now give me the fucking money.”

         Johnny’s hand quivered while he spoke. He crept towards Richard, keeping the gun trained on his target.

         “Richard, I will blow your fucking nuts off if you do not give me that cash.”

         Richard, visibly bewildered by the irony that Johnny was willing to kill him because he felt that Richard tried to kill someone else, sputtered as he spoke, “I - I can’t believe you, man. I gave you a life of luxury and you repay me by robbing me and leaving me to be captured for something I didn’t do?”

         “Bull-fucking-shit. You were on the phone with that guy for three hours that night. You knew exactly what was going on.”

         “The transfer of money is a complex process! That’s all we talked about!”

         “Look, I don’t give a shit. Tell me where the money is right now or I blow a nut off!”

         Seeing that Johnny was not going to back down, Richard reluctantly revealed to him that the $1.2 million was in the back seat of his car. Johnny left the house and checked it out. Having verified that the bag indeed was there, he came back in to grab the car keys.

         "So where the fuck are you going? Cuba?" Richard asked calmly but with an intense tone, "You'll never make it if you do try - you're too fucking stupid to figure out how to get there."

         "Oh, I'll make it and I'll soon be puffing on some smooth Cuban cigars - or cigars, they probably just call them cigars - while you'll be forced to puff on some guy's cigar in prison."

         With that, Johnny, his gun still trained on Richard, backed out of the house with the car keys and soon drove away. Richard was left alone with his thoughts while Johnny fled the area.

         “I’m a dead man,” Richard said to himself.

         He went to check his accounts on the internet, only to discover that access had been completely cut off. He had no way to flee. He had no funds and the cops were surely on their way. Richard decided to wait rather than get involved in a foolish police chase. He didn’t want to risk getting anybody hurt. Moments later the police arrived at Richard's driveway and declared that he give himself up.

         "Richard Eric, come out of the house now with your hands on top of your head," an officer shouted into a megaphone.

         Richard calmly opened his front door and did as the police said.

         "Mr. Eric, get on your knees then lay yourself face down," the officer continued.

         He slowly lowered himself to his knees and attempted to lie face down. He removed his hands from the top of his head to avoid smashing his face on the concrete sidewalk, which produced a great deal of excitement out of the encroaching police.

         "Keep your hands on your head and get on the ground!" an officer shouted as he rushed toward Richard and violently forced him to the concrete, "You play by our rules, you piece of shit!"

         "Dan, calm down," another officer said to the forceful cop, "You're being excessive."

         Richard was cuffed and was brought back to his feet with the forceful cop gripping his baton around his neck.

         "You're not getting away, you commi shit," the same overzealous officer whispered into Richard's ear.

         "Dan, what did I tell you? Get your baton off his throat and take him to the car," an officer again scolded.

         Richard continued to keep his silence as he was led away, bruised and slightly bleeding, to an idling police car and was soon on his way to lockup.

         On the ride to the local jail, Richard could think of nothing but how he had been betrayed and suffered great misfortune in the past year. He had lost his livelihood and wife as a result of a nasty lawsuit by a former employee. He now lost a friend who had turned on and then abandoned him. He had all the money that he would ever need locked away in his accounts, but no amount of money would be able to buy him happiness. It had only brought him more pain and misery. He had just learned that the hard way. Several other people, on the other hand, had gained considerable happiness at the cost of Richard’s well-being.

         Richard first had his wounds bandaged, then was led to a holding cell by a guard.

         “So this was the best way to spend your lotto money,” the guard slowly said in a tough, almost taunting, tone, “to associate with fuckin' communists to try to blow up a building? You didn’t think we would find you? Anybody with enough wisely-used resources can find anyone these days. You could have just bought an island with all that money and spent the rest of your life there if you didn’t like it here.”

         “I didn’t know they were communists...” Richard insisted, “How could I have known?”

         “You could have opened you fuckin' eyes, that’s how you could have known,” the guard scolded, “WORK FOR Comm. PEACE is an acronym – Workers Organized Regarding Karl and Friedrich’s Organization Regarding Communism Produced Entirely by Animosity, Cruelty and Exasperation. You knew what they were all about. Two seconds on Google and you can find out about anything. Dumb shit.”

         “Wow..., what a confusing and unusual acronym. If only I had thought of searching it sooner...” Richard muttered.

         “Well, that’s too bad, my red friend,” the guard continued, “Your little scare could kind of make you a modern-day Rosenberg; know what I mean? Enjoy your jail time because unless you can find a way out, it may be your last bit of time."

         The guard then turned and started to walk away before soon stopping to leave Richard with one last personal opinion: "Oh, and that little beating you took before you got here, that's nothing compared to what you can expect in prison," he finished while patting his own butt to further emphasize the expected "beatings" Richard should anticipate.

         With that, the door was closed on Richard’s freedom while he was left to reflect on his ever-crumbling life.

         “It’s going to take a lot to rebuild my reputation now...”