Illusion of Luck

by Robert Burton Robinson

  They ate in silence for a few seconds.

  Crow suddenly got excited. “Oh, and I caught a robber.”

  “A robber? Somebody tried to rob the grocery store?”

  “Yep. It was a young guy—about 20. He had stuffed four DVDs in his shirt. I saw him doing it. And I hoped he’d change his mind and put them back—but he didn’t.”

  “So, you stopped him as he was going out the door?”

  “No. I had been keeping an eye on him. But then a lady asked me where the flax seed was, so I was telling her it was on aisle eight. And then she wanted to know—“

  “—so, what happened?”

  “Well, I looked up and he was gone. He was already in the parking lot. So, I ran out, and I saw him at his pickup, fumbling with his keys, trying to get the door unlocked. I think he got nervous ‘cause he saw me running at him. I was running as fast as I could.”

  “So, you got there before he could get the door open?”

  “Not quite. He got it open, and got halfway in. And that’s when I slammed into his door at full speed.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah. He told the police I nearly cut him in half.”

  She started laughing.

  “But that was a lie. He was definitely in one piece. He was just real sore.”

  “You’re a hero, Crow.”

  “Nah. Just doing my job. What about you? Anything exciting happen today?”

  “No. Just the usual. Although, there was one guy who really got me ticked off. He made me so mad I just wanted to tear off his head and stuff it up his butt.”

  Crow started laughing loudly. He couldn’t help it—he was a loud laugher. “I’m sure he deserved it.” He wondered which part would hurt worse—the tearing off or the stuffing up? He laughed even louder.

  “The jerk wanted me to do his first job free so he could evaluatemy skills.”

  “Doesn’t he know you’re the best?”

  “That didn’t matter. He just wanted to con me into working for free.”

  “But that boat don’t fly. Right, Chaucey?”

  “Yeah. That boat don’t float.”

  Crow took a bite of pizza and thought about how beautiful Chaucey was—even when she was mad.

  When they had finished eating, she helped him clear the table and wash the dishes.

  “Thanks for your help, Chaucey.”

  “No problem. Now let’s get the movie going.”

  “Okay.”

  As she turned to walk toward the couch, he was right behind her. He couldn’t resist. He sniffed her hair.

  She spun around as though a jewel thief had robbed her of a priceless necklace.

  “What are you doing? Did you just sniff my hair?”

  He hesitated. “Yes. Chaucey, I need to tell you something.”

  “No, no. Don’t.”

  “I’m in love with you.” He wished he hadn’t blurted it out. He had wanted it to be romantic.

  “No. I can’t do this, Crow.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve got to go.” She hurried out the door, and across to her apartment.

  He wanted to run after her, but he knew it would only make things worse. Had he just ruined everything? He wanted her to be his girlfriend. But he didn’t want to destroy their friendship.

  Crow had finally reached out for her love. But he had squeezed it too hard in his big, strong, clumsy hands. He hated himself for upsetting her.

  **********

  Sandy was enjoying his nap so much he didn’t want to wake up. He was on his side, and his back was cool. But his front was cozy warm, against Rebecca. What an amazing dream. Her firm butt felt wonderful nestled in his lap. And the feeling was growing stronger by the second. His right arm was wrapped around her, his hand gently cupping her right breast.

  He began to massage her nipple with his thumb. She moaned ever so faintly and arched her back slightly, forcing her rear end tighter against him. He responded by pushing a little harder against her.

  It was unquestionably his best dream ever. And it seemed so real.

  There’s something about taking a nap in the middle of the day when you’re dead tired. He could remember a summer camping trip at the lake. That first day, after swimming all morning and most of the afternoon, he took a nap before dinner. He dreamed he was still in the water, floating around and playing games with bright-colored fish. Thank goodness his mom woke him up when she did. He was just about to pee in his pants.

  How long would this dream last? And how far would it go? He couldn’t wait to find out. Then he heard Greg snore. Poor guy, he thought. But why was he hearing Greg snoring? This was hissex dream—he didn’t want Greg interrupting it.

  But what if it wasn’ta dream? What if he really was spooning Rebecca? What if he really was caressing her breast?

  She twitched, and he realized—it was nota dream. He was a dead man. He released her breast and pulled his arm back.

  Rebecca sat up.

  Sandy was frozen in the dark. He couldn’t see anything. At any moment her fist would be launched toward his head or crotch. And he’d never see it coming. But he deserved whatever he got. He had gone way over the line. But, in all fairness, he had thought he was dreaming. Would she buy that? Doubtful.

  “It’s nighttime—almost seven o’clock,” she said. “We’d better get up.”

  Is that it? Sandy wondered. Or is she just waiting for the right moment? He pictured the three of them at a nice restaurant, talking and eating, when suddenly she would pick up her steak knife and stab him right through the heart, and then calmly and casually say, “I warned you.”

  Or maybe she didn’t even know what he had done. Maybe she had slept through it. Or…maybe she likedit.

  Chapter21

  “We should check for another chapter.” Greg was sitting on the side of the bed, still groggy from the three hour nap.

  “I’m on it.” Rebecca already had her laptop open at the table.

  Sandy had not bothered to sit up yet. “Anybody hungry?”

  “I thought for sure we’d find his car if we checked all the apartments,” said Greg.

  “Well, they’ve got some fancy ones,” said Sandy. “Must be nothing but rich people living around here. One place even had garages. At first we wondered where all the cars were.”

  “Yeah, I ran across one of those, too,” said Greg. “Did you go into the office and ask if they had any new tenants?”

  “Yeah. They had a woman who moved in this morning, so I figured it couldn’t be them.”

  “But what if he made Cynthiado it? You should have gone to the apartment and checked it out.”

  “Oh, we did.” He nodded at Rebecca. “Miss Private Eye insisted.”

  She didn’t even look up from the computer. “I don’t take anything for granted.”

  “So, we met the woman and her five cats,” said Sandy.

  “Single, huh?” said Greg.

  “Oh yeah,” said Sandy.

  “No new chapter,” said Rebecca. “But we’ve got more comments. This Chaucey woman is still after him.”

  “She’s gonna be plenty sorry if she ever catcheshim,” said Sandy.

  “He’s got a couple of lines of that Old English junk we saw in his last comment. Then he’s got this weird poem.”

  Such a rare treat, I dare not waste it:

  From yonder tree a delicious cherry.

  Come forth and meet in the woods to taste it;

  If you believe, make it one for three.

  “The guy is nuts,” said Sandy. “But he thinks he’s some great poet.”

  “Most great poets arenuts,” said Rebecca. “Actually, most of them are dead.”

  “But maybe it means something,” said Greg.

  “So?” Sandy yawned.

  “There might be some clues in there somewhere,” said Greg. “He does mention woodsin the poem. Hopefully that means they arehere in The Woodlands.”

  “Where? We’ve already checked all the apartm
ents,” said Sandy.

  “We could try the hotels.”

  “Yeah, but in the book he said he rented an apartment,” said Sandy.

  “Oh, this is interesting,” said Rebecca.

  “What?” said Greg.

  “I googled a line from this Old English stuff. It’s not OldEnglish—it’s MiddleEnglish.”

  “Well, that’sgood to know,” said Sandy sarcastically.

  Rebecca ignored him. “It’s from Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales.”

  “And her name is Chaucey,” said Greg.

  Sandy sat up. “Okay, that’s pretty weird—but I don’t see how it helps us.”

  “Let’s see…that particular passage is from The Franklin’s Tale: a feast in the garden.”

  “Wait,” said Greg. “Now we’re getting somewhere—I think. In Larry’s poem, he talked about meeting in the woods. The woods…a feast in the garden…a garden feast woods…a feast in the garden woods…”

  “Oh, wow,” said Sandy. “You’re right, Buddy. Now we know their exact location. They’re out in the garden woods having a feast. And, of course, we know from the poem that they’re feasting on a single cherry. Yum—delicious.”

  “Yeah, that’s it, I think,” said Rebecca. “And Cynthia is the cherry.”

  “What?” said Sandy. “I was joking.”

  “And he wants Chaucey to join them, to share the cherry,” said Greg. “He wants to have a threesome. That stinking pervert!”

  “Garden woods—weren’t there some apartments with that name?” said Rebecca.

  Greg reached into his pocket and pulled out his crumpled list. “Yes. Gardenwoods Luxury Apartments. I remember that place. It was the one with the garages.”

  “But you went into the office and checked, right?” said Rebecca.

  “Yeah. And there wasa guy who moved in this morning. But the lady said he was foreign. She could barely understand him. She thought he was from India or Pakistan.”

  “What was his name? Did you write it down?” said Rebecca.

  “No, but it was…Reebo…or Reelo…or—“

  “Reevo?” said Rebecca.

  “Yeah, that’s it—Reevo.”

  “Do you remember the first name?” said Rebecca.

  “Uh…”

  “Was it Enim?” said Rebecca.

  “Yes—I think it was,” said Greg.

  “How in the world did you know that?” said Sandy.

  “Think about it,” said Rebecca. “Enim Revo. Now turn it around backwards.”

  Greg thought for a few seconds. “Mine…over.”

  “Good. Now swap the two words so that everythingis backwards,” she said.

  “Over mine,” said Sandy.

  “Get it?” said Rebecca. “Over mine…Undermine?”

  “Barry Undermine,” said Greg.

  “This guy really loves to mess with your head,” said Sandy. “He thinks he’s smarter than everybody else.”

  “And so does Chaucey,” said Greg. “They think they’re so smart that they can say whatever they want because we dummies don’t have the intelligence to decipher it.”

  “But we did. And now we know everything but the apartment number,” said Sandy.

  “Hold on,” said Rebecca. “I think he might have even given us that. He hadto tell Chaucey so she could join him, right? Listen to the last line of his poem.”

  If you believe, make it one for three.

  “We thought he was referring to a threesome, and maybe he is,” she said. “But it could have a double meaning.”

  “Make it one for three…” said Greg. “Make it 1-4-3. He gave her the apartment number: 143!”

  “Right,” said Rebecca.

  Sandy jumped up. “Let’s go get him!”

  **********

  They had decided to take one car—Greg’s red 1965 Pontiac Bonneville convertible. Sandy had suggested Rebecca ride in front with Greg. But he wished the Bonneville didn’t have bucket seats. He would have preferred sitting up front, with her in the middle. Although, if his arm or leg had touched hers, he might have gotten a hard elbow to the nose. Or maybe she would have grabbed his head in both hands and planted a huge kiss on him.

  “Why didn’t he just get a hotel room instead of an apartment?” said Sandy. “I mean—what’s he using for furniture?”

  “Gotta be a furnished apartment,” said Rebecca. “They’re great for business people that need to hang around for a month or two—doing consulting or whatever.”

  “So, what is he thinking—that he’s going to set up housekeeping with Cynthia?” said Sandy. “Surely he didn’t think he could kidnap her and then make her want to be his live-in girlfriend or wife?”

  “He’s a wacko,” said Greg. “How knows whathe’s thinking.”

  “Well, apparently he’s decided he needs more than just Cynthia,” said Rebecca.

  Greg was quiet for a moment. “Unless…”

  “What?” she said.

  “Unless he doesn’t haveCynthia anymore,” said Greg.

  “No, I’m sure she’s okay,” she said.

  “But he killed your partner,” said Greg.

  “Yeah, but Cynthia is different. He loves her,” she said.

  “In his own sick way,” said Sandy.

  “Here it is,” said Greg.

  “Why don’t you drop me off at the office,” said Rebecca, “and I’ll go in and make sure apartment 143 belongs to Mr. Revo. Y’all go watch the apartment and make sure he doesn’t get away.”

  “Okay,” said Greg.

  Good thing this was an expensive place, Rebecca thought. At a typical complex, the office would be closed at night.

  “Excuse me,” said Rebecca.

  The woman behind the counter gave her a look that said, ‘You must have gotten lost, Lady, because you certainly don’t look like you belong here.’ “May I help you?”

  Rebecca realized how awful she must look after spending all night and most of the day in a car and then sleeping in her clothes. “Yes. I came to see a friend of mine, but I’m not sure about the apartment number.”

  “Well, why didn’t you just call her and ask her?”

  Rebecca wanted nothing more than to jump over the counter and bludgeon the snooty woman. “It’s a guy. And my cell phone is—it’s a long story. His name is Enim Revo. I think he said he was in 143. I just wanted to be sure.”

  “Ma’am, I’ve never heard that name before. And I’ve been working here for nine years.”

  “Well, he just moved in this morning.”

  The woman looked over the top of her glasses. “I see.”

  “Could you just check it, please?”

  The woman worked at her computer a few seconds. “Yes. Here he is. Apartment 143.”

  Rebecca rushed out of the office, not bothering to thank the woman or to wait for an apology. She spotted Greg’s Bonneville in the parking lot, and walked over to it. “Okay. Greg, why don’t you wait here while Sandy and I go in?”

  “Oh, no way. I’m going in.” Greg opened his door and got out of the car.

  “Okay, then. Sandy, you get in the driver’s seat and watch his garage door. If he tries to escape, block him in with Greg’s car.”

  Under normal circumstances, Greg would have strongly objected to the idea of his car being used as a bulldozer.

  When they reached the apartment, Rebecca said, “I’ll knock. He doesn’t know me. You stay back.”

  She rang the doorbell.

  And again.

  Then she knocked.

  No response.

  Greg whispered. “Now what?”

  She led him around to the side and checked the windows. They were all locked. So, she took off a shoe and used it as a hammer to break a window. Then she unlocked and opened it.

  Greg wanted Cynthia back more than anything, but he wasn’t sure about breaking and entering. Were they absolutely sure this was the right apartment? The right tenant? What if they were wrong and they guy had a gun?

 
“Give me a boost,” whispered Rebecca.

  Greg helped her climb in and then waited for her to come back.

  He saw a light come on inside—followed by a gunshot!

  Greg hit the ground.

  Was Rebecca dead? He couldn’t budge. He was frozen in the stone cold silence.

  Chapter22

  Greg’s brain churned at hyper-speed, running through the possibilities. Oh please, God, don’t let Rebecca be dead. He heard somebody walking toward the window. What if it was Larry—with a gun? He was about to jump up and run.

  “What are you doing down there?”

  He looked up and saw Rebecca. “Thank goodness. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, sure. There’s nobody here.”

  “What was that loud bang?”

  “Oh. Is that why you’re down there?” She looked at him and wondered why she had even asked. “Sorry I scared you. I saw a little piece of paper under the kitchen table. So I pushed a chair out of the way and it tipped over and it hit the tile floor.”

  Greg stood up. “So what was on the paper?”

  “It was just a receipt for chips and cokes. Go around to the door and I’ll let you in so you can help me search the place.”

  While Rebecca looked through the kitchen cabinets and drawers, Greg went into the master bedroom.

  He prayed he would find the bed still made. But if the covers had been thrown on the floor it could only mean one thing. He flipped the light switch.

  The bedspread was still in its place, but it had been ruffled. He studied it for signs of… He felt ill. If he found proof that Larry had forced himself on her, he would fall apart—or turn into a raging madman.

  He leaned in close—afraid of what he would see. Then he smelled it—Cynthia’s perfume. He quickly sniffed up and down the bedspread. It was all her.

  He fell onto the bed and buried his face in her scent. With his eyes closed, he could see her. Oh Baby, I love you so much. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

  The tears began to well up in his eyes.

  He stood up and told himself he must hold it together. They would find her. He would get his wife back. His wife. Cynthia was his wife. He wasn’t even used to calling her that yet. They had only been married one day.