The Lotto Ticket

The loud buzz from the generator irritated me back to consciousness; I found myself tied to a metal folding chair, blindfolded. My head was throbbing, and something was stuffed in my mouth to prevent me from yelling. I began to panic, but in that moment remembered the breathing tactics I learned from the foreign exchange student I taught during last summer's camping course: every time one of the other kids teased or bullied him he'd go missing and I'd find him meditating doing these weird looking breathing practices. He'd always say, "My father says that oxygen ignites the flames from within to create the fearless warrior."

"Fearless you are!" is what I would reply.

One day he was jumped by two racist kids from another camp that happened to be sharing the mountain with ours: they tried to defend themselves with the argument "he should have used his karate!" and were kicked out; but he ran into the woods and it took me an hour to find him. He was so terrified that I had to convince him to teach me his breathing practices so that the camp could have two fearless warriors to protect it.

As I grow calmer, I realize that the fabric of the blindfold is fairly thin; after a few moments my eyes adjust to the conditions and I'm able to slightly see through. I can see that I am in a dark room; there is a dank, musty smell, as if mold or dirt plaster the walls instead of paint. In the shadows I can make out a stairway that leads up, into a darkness that blends into the ceiling. There is a light swaying from the vibrations of heavy footsteps that lumber above; a glow from something burning in a furnace: I am in a basement. I begin to take deep breaths to help keep myself calm; I feel as if I'm going to lose it. "What the fuck is going on?" I ask myself. I close my eyes and think back.

I went to work; after I was off, I went by the pet shop to get feeders, got gas; then I went home. I dumped the fish in the tank, ate a sandwich and called, uh, um, "damn my head hurts!" Come on man think! I received a call from that fucking idiot Rudy, yeah! The Maverick's Flat! I was at that swanky club with Rudy. He kept saying "It should have been me." It should have been me? 'Aw he set me up! In anger I kick my feet out lifting the chair and yell into whatever is in my mouth. "Fuck!"

One of the chair legs doesn't have a rubber stopper on it, so when it hits the cement floor it makes a loud screeching sound from my shifting weight; immediately after the sound stops, the shuffle of footsteps can be heard going into a frenzy above me. My heart rate begins to rise. The dark corner where the stairway disappeared into the roof suddenly brightens and I can see a flurry of figures whisk into the room. My toes are curled, and my muscles are tense.

"He's still tied up!" one of the figures shouted. "You can come down when ya' ready! This fool not goin' anywhere."

The figures surround me, but only one moves forward; I can see that it's a man in a Halloween mask, but he quickly steps out of view. Something thumps me upside my head causing me to hunch over. I am trapped, and terrified; then, a single pair of footsteps can be heard from above. The footsteps turn to stomps, and the disguised Trick or Treater continues to pummel me until the guest of honor arrives. There is a round of applause upon his entrance, but that is drowned out by the sound of little Eddie's voice in my head: "My father says that oxygen ignites the flames from within to create the fearless warrior." I begin the learned breathing practice.

"You don't know me, and, I don't know you, but I know Rudy, and he tells me that he knows that you won the lottery. And that you won it big! Now, we specialize in strong arm robbery, all types of assault, as well as extortion. All I want is the ticket. I know you haven't claimed it yet because public records haven't reported it. So, just make this easy and give me the ticket. Let's not exacerbate the situation to where we have to escalate the measures being used here." He walks to one of the men I presume are his thugs and says, "Take the sock out of his mouth so he can talk."

The masked crusader removes the sock from my mouth, and I begin playing a new game of chance; it's called, life or death. My mind shifts into pilot mode, I respond, "I will give you the ticket if you promise to let me live."

They laugh.

"I'm serious. Rudy knew I stashed it in a safety deposit box which is why he turned to you for help. I think he's trying to play both sides here and I just want out of this now!"

"What do mean he's trying to play both sides?"

"He said he has a lady in the Lottery Office that somehow came up with the numbers, and, we have the next two winning tickets. I didn't trust him, so I convinced him to drive my car as collateral to allow me to store the tickets in my safety deposit box until the next winning date." I had just remembered that Rudy had swiped my keys before I passed out, so he would definitely be driving my car.

"What kind of car do you have?"

"A 1969 Chevy SS Chevelle."

"What color?" he asked. I could hear the disposition in his voice changing.

"Black. I think he sent you to kill me for my car." I replied, trying my best to imitate the sadness of a child confronting a punishment.

One of the goons, the widest one from what I can see, shuffles forward, clears his throat, and says, "I saw him driving that car today."

"That's my car!" I reply.

There's a moment of silence; then an inaudible whisper; followed by what sounds like an argument in inaudible whispers.

"I apologize for this encounter. It would be best if we could just put this behind us, let bygones be bygones and be friends. I will take care of Rudy, and I recommend that you call your insurance company to report your car stolen. One of my employees will cut you lose in a second. You can take all the ropes and the blindfold off after we leave." I could hear him walking away as the rope was being cut.

Once I was free, I rushed home, grabbed my winning lottery ticket from the pineapple shaped refrigerator magnet clip, and got the fuck out of town.