by Jon Grilz
Perez looked down at the duffle and back up at Charlie. “If that cop took that money, he wouldn’t be any better than the drug dealers, the men he’s sworn to protect people like his wife from.”
Charlie smiled and grabbed the handles of the duffle bag, then set it up on the counter. “You’re one of the good guys, Sergeant Perez, so I guess it’s a good thing there’s no money in this bag, huh?”
Perez unzipped the bag and found nothing but a white business card in the bottom. He grabbed it and turned it over. “The Kelly Foundation?” Perez asked, holding up the card.
Charlie gave him a simple, placating smile. “A lot of money gets found out there. It goes to all kinds of places, and sometimes it wanders all over and gets lost.”
Perez shook his head and stared at the man he didn’t know, a man he was pretty sure he couldn’t trust and was a danger to himself and others.
Charlie patted him on the shoulder and walked toward the door of the café. “There’s no money in there, but still, I think you’ll like it. Consider it a gift to the only good man I know.”
Before Perez could ask Charlie anything, his phone rang. Charlie didn’t turn as he walked out the door. Perez answered his phone as he watched Charlie walk up to a black sedan with two familiar-looking men standing next to it, smoking. “Hello?” Perez said, not bothering to look at the caller ID.
“Mark,” Elsa said, sounding full of energy, a tone he hadn’t heard in her voice in a long time. “Did you hear?” she asked.
“Hear what?”
“I just found out that some foundation is donating the money for my surgery. Oh my God.. I-I don’t know what to say. I’ve been almost shaking here since they told me.”
“El, what are you talking about? What foundation?” Perez asked, still watching as Charlie lit up a cigarillo.
“I don’t really know. It’s kind of vague, like they’re just doing it for tax deductions or something, and they aren’t making a big deal out of it, but my God, I just…”
Charlie looked back into the diner, holding the little cigar between his lips. He didn’t smile or nod or even indicate that he was actually looking at Perez. He just stood there for a moment before climbing into the back of the car.
“I think,” Elsa said, “it was something like the, uh, Cary Foundation.”
“The Kelly Foundation?” Perez asked.
“That’s it. You know it?”
The car drove away and turned down the road and out of sight in just a few seconds.
“Not really, El. Not really.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jon Grilz lives and works in Minnesota with his family. His only true goals in life are to be the best writer, husband and father he can possibly be. He works at all three every day.
